


Take a Chance on Me

by cynicalkairos



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Mamma Mia! (Movies), Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mamma Mia! References, Neck Kissing, POV Multiple, Self-Doubt, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28125021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynicalkairos/pseuds/cynicalkairos
Summary: The story in which Lassiter does not think that Shawn is serious about his intentions toward him and Shawn thinks it's best to tell him by singing Mamma Mia!Let the confusion begin.
Relationships: Burton "Gus" Guster/Juliet O'Hara, Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 9
Kudos: 42





	Take a Chance on Me

**Author's Note:**

> Mamma Mia! is one of my favorite musicals and, after watching Psych, this is something that I definitely believe Shawn would do at his best friend's wedding!
> 
> Enjoy!

No one could ever say they thought this day would come, not that they really expected it in the first place.

It was Gus and Juliet’s wedding. 

After everyone got over the fact that her and Shawn were destined to be a thing, the entire police station could see how great of a couple they were.

They both respected each other’s views, enjoyed going to Comic Con together, and had fun in a way that was simultaneously fun and thrilling for the both of them.

Plus, there wasn’t a veil of lies covering their relationship.

Every time a certain psychic flirted with the junior detective, Shawn couldn’t help but feel the overbearing and completely justified weight of crippling guilt for her believing wholeheartedly in his lies.

So, he let the second best option take its course and watched his two best friends fall for each other. 

Usually, Shawn and Gus hung out together, being each other’s wingman and competing to see who ate the most pigs in a blanket from the same passing waiter. 

Well, they still did that, but Gus shared his time during his wedding with Juliet. 

However, that left his buddy’s partner in crime all alone during the wedding reception. And, of course, that meant that the bride’s partner in justice was all alone too.

One Carlton Lassiter could be seen at the bar, the buttons of his shirt undone, tie and jacket discarded on one of the many chairs in the large room, and Jack Daniels in his hand. His holster would have been visible, but Juliet made him promise not to wear the shoulder holster (She didn’t say anything about his ankle holster and, even if she did, he would have worn it anyway.)

Without the comfort of the tight leather straps on his shoulders, Lassiter felt exposed— naked, perhaps. And there was nothing he could do about it without bridezilla—he meant O’Hara…Guster?— coming over and kicking his ass in her heels. 

To any other person, the sight of this incredibly lonely man was enough to scare them away. But, for some reason, the gruff, brash head detective had the complete opposite effect on the psychic. 

As naive, yet strangely logical that man was, Lassiter never once believed that Shawn was psychic and he made that belief abundantly clear. Shawn supposed that was why he was so drawn to him. The psychic liked playing their never-ending game of cat and mouse, the one that always aggravated the older man to the ends of the Earth. He liked that the simple action of putting his fingers to his temple caused the vein in Lassiter’s forehead to pop when the logic- and fact-based detective could not accumulate any form of proof that negated him actually being psychic. Needless to say, it was fun.

Seeing him alone and looking extremely pissed off at the world around him, Shawn strutted over with his quaffed hair and indescribable amount of confidence and planted himself at Lassiter’s side. Shawn flagged down the bartender and ordered himself some horrendously sugary drink. 

At the sound of a voice right next to him, Lassiter turned to look at him, rolling his eyes when finding out who it was. “Can’t I have one night where I’m not plagued by your insurmountable theatrics?” 

Shrugging in response, Shawn then put a hand on the detective’s shoulder. “Don’t downplay yourself, Lassie. I think you’re really mountable tonight.”

Right before his eyes, the older man nearly choked on his drink and cleared his throat afterward, scouring around the loud room to ensure that no one else heard him. He then threw Shawn’s hand off his shoulder with his free hand. “For God’s sake, Spencer, do you have any decency?”

“You know I left that in my other pants.” Shawn smiled as he received his ridiculous drink and took a sip.

Lassiter only rolled his eyes and faced the bar once more, entirely tired of the psychic’s bullshit. “Then can you go put those on, so we can finish this discussion?”

“As long as you take these off me yourself.”

“You are insufferable.”

“And you are sexy. Don’t even get me started on the light blue suit. Jules really did a good job picking out the color scheme that made your ass look—”

By this point, the head detective gave up his drink and stormed off, grumbling some incoherent profanities under his breath in a way that totally didn’t turn Shawn on even more.

That was the other part of the game that Shawn ever so much enjoyed.

Seeing that bright red flush light up his face, neck, and even chest if he was lucky enough encouraged him to taunt Lassiter with the endless charades and nicknames. When the psychic had the pleasure of gracing the Santa Barbara Police Station with his presence, he never failed to catch the fiery, yet icy gaze of the head detective. 

Sure, it might have been because he was interrupting his work and wanted to throw his ass out onto the pavement outside, but it was a gratifying and fun game nonetheless. 

Taking another sip of his frivolous drink, he turned around and leaned on the bar, only to see Gus appear beside him.

“What got his panties in a wad this time?” The groom commented, his eyes trailing the tall, hot-headed detective as he stomped off to the bathroom in a heterosexual, mostly concerned-for-his-security-deposit-on-the-venue kind of way.

“Well, hopefully me later,” Shawn replied, his eyes also following the man to the bathroom in a totally homosexual way, using the few moments his back was turned so he could admire that gorgeous ass of his. Then he gasped and turned to his best friend. “Do you really think he’s wearing panties under that suit? Dude, what if he—”

Gus gave him a disgusted look and pursed his lips, shaking the image out of his mind. “Get your head out of the gutter, Shawn. He probably just doesn’t prefer to be so blatantly sexualized.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think I sexualized him just enough.”

“Yeah? What did you tell him?”

“Well,” Shawn started as he recounted his previous conversation. “I told him he looked really mountable, that he could take off my pants— oh! And that he was sexy.”

Gus simply shook his head disappointedly. “No wonder he got so angry.”

“What?” The psychic questioned, looking at him incredulously and looking entirely ridiculous doing so while holding his fruity, extravagant drink.

“Look, for being so smart, you are a complete idiot.”

“No you.”

“No you.”

“No you.”

“No you.”

During this spectacle of childish idiocracy, the groom and his best man slapped each other playfully like they were magically five all over again. They were still batting at each other and repeating the same phrase when Juliet walked over, seeing the two best friends and frowning.

Clearing her throat, the other detective crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows expectantly. “What are you two doing?”

“Nothing!” Shawn exclaimed at the same time Gus explained by saying, “Shawn failed at flirting with Lassiter.”

When she heard their response, she tried to stifle back her laughter. “Please don’t tell me you told him about the suit—”

“Uh,” Shawn interjected, pointing at her. “You know I told him about the suit.”

“Shawn!” Juliet said as her hands drifted to her hips to readily defend her partner in crime— or, well, justice. “He probably thought you were making fun of him. You know, he was really insecure about the light blue.”

“I was trying to make him less insecure—”

“By telling him that his butt looked good in those pants?”

“I’m not a liar! His butt did look really good in those pants.”

Cutting off a knowing look from Gus with an exaggerated, yet very necessary shush, Juliet took the pause to sigh and flail her arms in the air. “Look, I’ll go talk to him. I know he doesn’t want to see either of you guys right now.”

Before she walked off, she pressed a gentle kiss to Gus’s cheek and his hand lingered on the small of her back, before she walked away, leaving her new husband to trail his eyes down her in a completely heterosexual way.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if you just asked him out,” Gus noted once Juliet finally turned the corner.

Shawn sighed and took a long, long sip of his drink, contemplating Gus’s observation, finally saying, “I know, I know. It’s just more fun this way.”

“Lassie’s a commitment type of guy, Shawn. He doesn’t have time to fool around with your childish antics. I bet he thinks that you’re just messing with him.”

With that, Gus patted his shoulder and wished him good luck, before going off into the dance floor to dance to the upbeat, really poppy song the DJ just put on.

Shawn looked down and furrowed his brow, thinking about Lassiter in that light blue suit that he never thought would ever see, his pineapple-infused drink in front of him, and obviously not about what Gus just said. 

Then he wandered off to find his father in the midst of the crowd of people.

Meanwhile, in the men’s bathroom, Juliet was confronting the angry, nearly murdery detective. Well, Juliet wasn’t in the men’s bathroom. That would be weird. She was standing outside with Lassiter locked inside.

“I’m done with Spencer!” Lassiter bellowed out from behind the door. “I’m going to… stab… him!”

“Aw, you’re going to stab him?” Juliet gushed, leaning against the wall outside. “That’s intimate, Carlton.”

“That’s not—” He was so angry he cut himself off by unlocking and throwing open the door, revealing a clearly not okay Carlton Lassiter. He paused and scratched the back of his head, thinking about it for a second. “I mean, I guess it’s kind of intimate. You need to be in close proximity, right in each other’s faces. There needs to be passion and tension. You need to hold each other in each other’s arms as the other person falls down to the ground with the weight of gravity and their imminent death—”

“Carlton,” his partner interjected, raising her eyebrows at him.

“What?” The man frowned at her in confusion.

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

He shrugged lightly and started to tap his fingers against his palm, but Juliet definitely didn’t miss his eyes light up in acknowledgement. Then he replied softly and shockingly without any threat behind it, “Shut up.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding and smiling knowingly. Seeing him like this was a nice reminder that her partner is not entirely a robot. “So, Shawn, huh?”

At the sound of his name, the corners of his lips inched up and, with a shake of his head, he said, “He’s just so frustrating. One second, he’s fine, a normal guy, a guy that I might be attracted to—”

“‘Might be?’” Juliet asked, earning a glare from the other man that she just laughed off. 

“And the next, he's a complete asshole that I might be— fine, _am_ attracted to, but he just makes me so…” His words trailed off into a frustrated growl and slammed his fist into the door frame. 

“Carlton!” Juliet exclaimed as she went over to inspect the man’s hand, only for him to pull it away and grumble under his breath when his partner’s intense glare coerced him to hand his fist over.

Lassiter’s fist was fine to say the least, a little red maybe, but an oak frame stood no chance at hindering the head detective. 

Still holding his hand, Juliet rubbed the back of it until he unclenched his fist and released a breath he seemed to be holding for a long time. She let go of his hand and he placed it at his side, his head hanging down low in shame.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing his flushed knuckles with his other thumb. “It’s just— it scares me, you know. I can’t let myself get hurt again, not after Victoria toyed with my heart, shattered it into a million tiny pieces, and threw them into the fucking sun.”

Giving him a wary look, the bride then sighed and shrugged lightly. “It’s natural, Carlton. That’s what makes love so worth it in the end.”

He looked up to see Juliet smiling softly at him, before he rolled his eyes and huffed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“It’s nice to see you back, partner. Just promise me one thing?”

“Sure, anything.”

“Before you dismiss him altogether, hear him out, okay? He has good intentions. He just doesn’t think things through all the way.”

“Don’t I know it.” Lassiter managed a laugh and the smile broadened. Then he nodded curtly and grumbled, “I will... if he doesn’t make me want to push him off a cliff first.”

With a swift move, Juliet looped her arm around his and walked them away from the bathroom, leaving the previous, vulnerable conversation behind them. “Come on, let’s go dance.”

“O’Hara, I don’t—”

“Tonight, you do.”

“Fine.” Lassiter grumbled, but went willingly. If he was going to dance, he was definitely going to complain the entire time. “But you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Yeah?” 

“I can do a _mean_ macarena.”

She smiled up at him, him returning with a rare smile. “Then it’s on.”

“Oh, it’s on.”

Right as the two partners walked back into the reception hall, Gus ran up to them all worried and Gus-like with Henry Spencer towing behind him coolly with no care in the entire world. Well, except for the one care that might get his son killed. 

“Lassie, I am so sorry. I tried to convince him not to do—”

“Hello, hello, hello. Check 1, 2,” Shawn’s voice came booming out of the speakers. “Hello, party people! How are we doing tonight?”

With the sound of many cheers in the background, Lassiter’s face contorted with anger the instant he saw the psychic up on the stage, holding a microphone. “What the hell is he doing?”

“He’s being an idiot,” Henry chimed in with a sip of his drink, earning glares from both Gus and Juliet.

“What the hell is he doing?” The head detective repeated through gritted teeth, before taking his arm away from Juliet and moving into the crowd, yelling, “Spencer!”

“Do you think we should stop him?” Juliet asked as Gus slid his arm around Juliet’s waist. 

“No, no, this is Shawn’s fight. He dug his own grave, Juliet,” her husband replied as smoothly as one could with an extremely angry and sexually-frustrated head detective stalking toward one’s best friend.

Gus and Juliet looked at each other and shrugged, Henry eagerly hanging around in the back to see what happened.

“Good, good, good,” Shawn continued, prancing around the stage like the rockstar he thought he was. “Well, I came up here to congratulate my buddy Gus and Jules on their wedding. I thought Gus would never find a woman that shares his love for dramas and comic books, but I guess I stand corrected.”

Upon hearing this speech, Lassiter stopped in his tracks, standing in the middle of the crowd of people like the cliche idiot in love he was. 

Continuing to talk about Gus and Juliet’s relationship, all fun stories were tuned out as the detective gazed up at the psychic, all of his anger melting away at the small smiles and the soft glances he tossed the happy couple in the corner. 

By this point, his heart was racing. A third of him wanted to surge up there and kiss him right there. The next third wanted to turn around and retreat to the bathroom again. The final third wanted to knock him out right then and there, knowing that Shawn Spencer was certainly not done hogging the spotlight.

“Now, there’s a certain head detective in the audience that I have the hots for and he— yes, Aunt Margaret, he— does not think that I’m serious about him,” Shawn said, the mentioning of his title bringing him out of his head. 

“What kind of idiot is that? You’re a catch, Shawn,” A voice Lassiter recognized as Woody yelled out from beside him. Said head detective turned to the coroner and raised an eyebrow, earning a confused look from him. “What? He couldn’t possibly be talking about you.”

Lassiter turned to him and said, “Woody, what other head detectives could you possibly know?”

Woody perked up and wiggled his eyebrows. “Are we talking know or know in the biblical sense?”

With a look of well-deserved disgust, Lassiter turned around to walk to the bar. 

That’s when he realized Shawn saw him in the crowd. 

“Lassie!” Shawn called out into the microphone and caused the man himself to turn around with an expression of equal parts confusion, anger, and lovestruck. “Yes, you. The man in the perfectly fitted baby blue—”

“They’re light blue, Shawn!” Gus retorted loudly from the back of the crowd. “It’s the color of tranquility!”

“Fine, yes— light blue pants,” the psychic corrected himself, before arranging for the spotlight to be put on him, illuminating the now clearly angry head detective in the middle of the crowd of wedding guests. “There, you are. Charming and ruggedly handsome as always.”

Hoping Shawn couldn’t see his blush from that distance, he straightened his back (as straight as he could be) and stood taller to look intimidating rather than hopelessly in love. He even managed to roll his eyes for the sake of the performance. (He really should have been an actor in another life.)

“Look, I know I have enviably great hair, well-defined muscles, and fashion sense that compares with J-Lo herself,” Shawn complimented himself, staring directly at Lassiter. The detective only shifted to put his hands in his pockets and raised his eyebrows in response. “Don’t give me that look, Lassie. You know it gives me butterflies in my stomach.”

After another eye roll from the detective, Shawn continued with a heavy sigh, “But, I would be lying if I didn’t say I am an idiot, a nuisance, a constant pain in your ass, or the man who always breaks into your apartment to steal your peanut butter.”

“That’s you?” Lassiter asked indignantly and rhetorically, his brows furrowing into a tight line.

“Lassie, darling, I’m joking. I am the one who steals your yogurt as well.”

“Oh,” Lassiter said grimly, rolling up his sleeves and pushing them up to his elbow with a surge forward. “You son of a—”

“Should we help him now?” Juliet asked again, now watching with a drink in her hand.

“Nah, give it a minute,” her husband replied with a drink in his hand as well.

“Carlton,” Shawn said, before the detective could move threateningly toward him, and effectively halting him in his tracks at the sound of his first name. “Instead of potentially killing me, I want to sing you a song.”

As the musical and the movie was popular during the time, Shawn thought it was perfectly acceptable as a gesture to court the gruff detective using a song called “Take a Chance on Me” by Abba. However, it was the _Mamma Mia!_ version because why would he give up the chance to ask out the guy he liked for a really long time at his best friend’s wedding reception using this song like in the movie. 

“Spencer, please don’t do this,” Lassiter complained out to the deaf ears of the audience screaming out in excitement as the music started playing.

When the beginning notes blared out on the speakers, the psychic jumped into the audience, the rest of the people clearing away to let him through.

Lassiter, however, was frozen like a deer in the headlights. Very unlike him.

“If you change your mind, I’m the first in line,” the shorter man sang to him, planting himself in front of him with his arms out. “Honey, I’m still free. Take a chance on me.”

His jaw dropped and mouth wide open, all the high-ranking, record-holding head detective could do was stare at him, his breath hitching when Shawn got closer to him and trailed his free hand up Lassiter’s crisp, white shirt, singing, “If you need me, let me know. Gonna be around if you got no place to go, if you’re feeling down.” 

The psychic continued to sing the song to the frozen man in front of him, dancing around him and feeling him up. Lassiter simply stared, his eyes never leaving the other man. 

Then, suddenly, if he thought nothing else could shock him after being serenading with Abba, Shawn stopped in front of him. 

Lassiter took in everything the spotlight gave him. The strands of previously perfectly gelled hair falling into his face. The sweat beading at his temple. The bright blush of his cheeks from the adrenaline rush and the close proximity to the gorgeous detective in front of him.

The detective could see him placing all theatrics and dramatics aside to simply hold his hand, noting the other’s red knuckles from punching a door frame for the first time.

“You want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair,” Shawn sang gently, despite the rather upbeat tempo of the song. “But I think you know that I can’t let go.”

Letting the music continue to play without him, Shawn put the microphone to his side and stared up at Lassiter, laying his heart on the line. “What do you say, Lassie? Take a chance on me?”

As he processed the answer to that question, his face furrowed together into an indecipherable concoction of anger and possibly arousal. Shawn could definitely not read the other man at that moment. 

Handing the microphone to some miscellaneous relative, Shawn then reached up and cautiously cupped either side of the detective’s jaw. Under his thumbs, he could feel the tension kept in the muscles surrounding his jaw and caressed them gently, hoping to calm him down.

After a moment, a small smile bloomed on Lassiter’s face, his eyes warming up with what could presumably be love or the desire to kill Shawn. The psychic still had no idea what was going on in the detective’s head. 

Then Shawn felt a tug, a pull on the soft fabric of his shirt. Glancing downward to the source, he saw two fists balling the material tightly. He met Lassiter’s longing eyes that were definitely closer than he remembered.

Closing the distance between them, Lassiter kissed him, nearly knocking the smaller man off his feet from the sheer impact. 

It took a moment for Shawn to process that Lassiter was actually kissing him, that this was actually happening. He thought his kisses would be passionate and dirty, rough and bruising, much like the man himself. But, no, this kiss was caring and gentle, but still breathtaking in its own way.

There was so much love poured into this one kiss that truly resonated with the man hiding behind the gruff exterior.

With a surprised hum, the psychic returned the kiss with the same amount of eagerness. He brought the other man down closer to him and wrapped his arms around his neck.

Despite whatever the hell his body was doing, Lassiter’s mind was freaking out. He simply couldn’t get over the fact that his lips were indeed on Shawn’s. The moment that he secretly dreamed about for— he didn’t even remember how long. 

Then the fear and doubt kicked in with exceptionally perfect timing as always. 

_What if Shawn wasn’t serious about this? What if this was all for some silly joke or prank with Guster? What if he was never really into him all this time? What if—_

Betraying his better senses, Lassiter pulled away, staring down at him with wide eyes and stammering impossibly understandable phrases. He stepped back and clenched his jaw, every alarm in his mind telling him to flee. 

The uproar from the crowd that witnessed the whole thing overwhelmed him. He usually didn’t mind the attention, but having everyone’s eyes on him at this very moment made him look around, scouring for a way out. 

Then, in the midst of the joyous cheers, Lassiter’s eyes landed on Shawn, still standing in the middle of the spotlight. 

_Huh_ , he thought, somehow amusing himself in such a stressful situation. _I did look like an idiot standing there._

But, at that point of time, Lassiter was definitely the idiot, leaving Shawn standing there all alone like that, especially after he sang Abba to him. No matter how much he denied it, he was a fan of _Mamma Mia!_.

Turning to look at his left, the detective met the worried gaze of Juliet and Gus standing at the side. They looked at him with apprehension, an emotion he surpassed long ago. 

Right then and there, standing in the middle of the dance floor, Lassiter was paralyzed with the overwhelming feeling of every emotion bombarding him. With no more options other than leaving the wedding altogether, he stomped over to Shawn and grabbed his shoulder.

After witnessing the series of events that just took place, Gus leaned over to Juliet, whispering into her ear, “Do you think we should—”

Juliet shook her head and whispered back, “No, no, he’ll live.”

“Juliet,” her husband now completely turned to her. “You do know this is Lassiter we’re talking about?”

“He would never hurt him, even if he threatens his life every thirty minutes.”

Gus sighed and raised an eyebrow, before deciding that taking his new wife to dance was a better way to celebrate their wedding than worrying over Shawn’s life and Lassiter’s tendency to want to end that life.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Shawn complained wildly as he was escorted off the dance floor and thrown out into the cool temperature of the parking lot outside of the venue. “Lassie, what gives? I thought you liked _Mamma Mia!_. Everyone likes—”

When he sensed something was off, the psychic stopped talking and looked over to see Lassiter pacing across the pavement, his long legs striding as he tried to piece together his thoughts.

“Hey, Lassie. You good over there?” He asked quietly, the shift in tone catching the detective off guard and forcing him away from his head.

Planting himself firmly on the ground, Lassiter turned to face Shawn and, for the first time, the younger man could see what thoughts were playing through the detective’s seemingly impenetrable mind. He could see his fear forcing his eyes to dart around the room, landing anywhere but Shawn. He could see his doubt preventing himself from getting any closer to Shawn, unsure of what he might do with such a close proximity. He could see his insecurity as, under the psychic’s scrutinizing gaze, he picked at his clothes and willed them to not adhere to his lanky frame.

“Of course, I’m good. What kind of question is that?” Lassiter spat, lashing out as a defense mechanism for whatever conversation lied ahead.

“Well, you don’t really look—” Shawn attempted to note, taking a pensive step forward.

“How do you do this?” The detective bellowed, pointing exaggeratedly to the dance floor. “How do you—I don’t even know how to describe it—”

The psychic simply shrugged nonchalantly, maintaining his cool composure, or, in other words, Shawn’s defense mechanism. “It’s called jazzercise, my sexy compadre. Gus and I attend a class down at the YMCA every Thursday afternoon. You should join us some time. Maybe, you’d get to see me in my—”

“That’s what I’m talking about. Everything is a joke to you!” Lassiter exclaimed, the raw, pent-up emotions breaking through by the end.

“Everything is a joke to me?” Shawn pointed at himself and then back at the detective. “Lassie, I hate to break it to you, but you were the one that kissed me first.”

“Well, you’re not exactly innocent yourself, Spencer! You’ve been taking every goddamn chance to torment me with your childish innuendos and unsavory groping from the day I met you,” the head detective countered, fed up with his fidgeting hands and placing them on his hips indignantly. Then the adrenaline coursing through his veins caused him to shout, “I’m attracted to you, okay? Ever since you helped me get back on my feet during that astronaut case, I found myself time after time hoping you were flirting with me and not the new romantic interest of the week. But, despite _all_ of that, I am not putting up with your little shenanigans any longer. I am done being the one who loves and ends up lonely and heartbroken in return over and over again!”

If Lassiter implied what he seemed to imply, that would mean that— no, it couldn’t be. Lassiter actually felt…things about him. Well, sure, Lassiter kissed him before, but he could chalk that up to a number of excuses. Alcohol— he’d seen that happen before all those years ago. The cheery mood of the occasion— it _is_ almost Christmas. Even _Mamma Mia!_ — he happened to hear the head detective humming “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” one time at the police station after closing a big case and arresting a major drug lord. 

But the confession still bewildered Shawn. All this time, every snide comment was a way to protect himself. All of the small pieces of the puzzle that was Carlton Lassiter suddenly added up in his head. 

He knew what he had to do.

Shawn’s eyes widened as Lassiter took a deep breath. In the sparse lighting from the tall lights above them, tears from unleashing all of the thoughts and emotions the detective buried for so long glistened on his sullen face. He ran his hands over his eyes, wiping away the tears, and pushed back his hair that fell in his face. 

“I’m going home.” Watching as the taller man started to walk toward his car, the psychic put on his big boy pants and puffed out his chest. He moved in front of the man, blocking him from getting any closer to his vehicle. “Move out of my way, Spencer.”

“No.”

The detective glowered down at him and then he rolled his eyes, revealing a tired look on his face. “I just want to go home.”

“Carlton, just listen to me for one minute,” Shawn pleaded softly, whispering loud enough that only the detective could hear him. “If you don’t think I am serious about you after that, then I won’t bother you anymore. Deal?”

Some gear in Lassiter’s head turned and he remembered what Juliet told him.

Hear him out, okay? Her voice echoed in his head. 

His mouth, ready to unleash some hurtful retort, shut and he inhaled deeply, calming himself down if only for just a moment. The detective walked over to his black Ford Fusion and leaned onto the trunk, crossing his arms over his chest.

Seeing this all happen, Shawn stared at him blankly, unable to comprehend that the unrelenting head detective was in fact relenting. 

“Deal,” Lassiter said calmly, almost too calmly in Shawn’s opinion. He gestured toward him, willing him to talk. “You have one minute, but… I’m all ears.”

“Damn right you are and sexy ones at that. I really wish I could—” Shawn stopped talking when the detective cut him off with a glare and ever so subtle blush to his cheeks. “Right, yes. I’m getting off-topic.”

Tentatively, the psychic approached the trigger-happy detective, knowing for a fact that he managed to sneak in a gun, despite the innumerable amount of protesting from Jules. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned on the car next to him, noting Lassiter’s furtive glances toward him as he got closer.

“The truth is,” Shawn started after taking in a deep breath. He looked down at the neatly smooth concrete to avoid melting into Lassiter’s intense gaze and his perfect blue eyes. “I am so into you, Lassie. At first, I never thought that you would even look at me, let alone feel anything toward me. Then I noticed the little things. You let me onto the crime scene without the Chief ordering you to, you do that cute, little smile thing— yeah, that’s the one— when you found my jokes funny, you even wanted to beat me at my own game. The sexiest you’ve ever been was when you got my bike back for me. God, I wanted to—”

“What are you saying, Shawn?” Lassiter asked, his quiet and sincere tone forcing Shawn to meet his gaze out of pure shock. 

“What I’m saying is,” the psychic started coolly, sliding closer to the detective when the other man did not protest one bit, “I’m not joking around this time. I want this. I want you and everything that comes with you, even that lovely sternumbush of yours. I like you, Carlton.”

Shawn smiled fondly when he managed to make Carlton laugh quietly, unable to control himself any longer, before the detective replied by saying, “You do now? Did you psychically divine it or some bullshit like that?”

“Oh, no,” Shawn continued and stood up, moving to the space in between Lassiter’s legs. “The _spirits_ are saying that I like like you. I merely dialled down the signals for you.”

The previously surly detective smiled fondly, evidently amused by his claim. Lazily, and to Shawn’s surprise and glee, he made more room for him by spreading his legs and loosely placed his hands on his hips. 

For the final part of Shawn’s speech, the psychic definitely knew that he couldn’t look the other man in the eye when he said, “I have one more confession to make.”

Lassiter looked at him expectantly, his blue eyes searching his face for any clue for what he was about to say. “I don’t need to hear—”

“I only did all of that to get your attention,” Shawn continued without hearing what Lassiter said.

“What?” 

“The names, the pranks, the competition—” Then the psychic stopped himself and frowned. “What did you think I was going to say?”

Lassiter shrugged and shook his head, dismissing the thought altogether. It was crazy to think that, all those years ago, he would have died if he managed to get a confession out of Shawn. Now, he honestly didn’t care. “Forget it. Nothing.”

“Look, I didn’t care if the only attention I got was you kicking me out of an investigation or you wanting to arrest me for interrupting a police investigation. A reaction’s a reaction to me,” the psychic continued rambling without pause, his attention focused on toying with one of the buttons on the detective’s shirt. “Not to mention, you are so hot when you’re angry. Anyone ever told you that? Like when you pulled me out here a moment ago? I was totally ready to drop to my knees in this parking lot.”

At the mere thought, Lassiter flushed and his eyes went wide. His heartbeat quickened and pounded out of his chest. He never expected one sentence to completely unravel him like this.

“You’re thinking about that right now, aren’t you, Lassie?” Shawn teased, loving how Lassiter’s blush crept all the way up to his face from his chest. “Wow, I never pegged you to be one for dirty talk.”

“Shut up, Spencer,” the detective said half-heartedly as he pulled him closer.

“Not going to happen, Lassifrass.” Shawn ran his hands up the other’s chest, feeling the pounding heartbeat against his fingertips. “This revelation is definitely going to come into play later.”

“Shawn—”

Interrupting and muffling any further complaint that was going to come out of his mouth, Shawn kissed him again, the detective eagerly and quickly reciprocating the kiss. 

Running his fingers through Lassiter’s dark, greying hair, Shawn tugged and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss right there in the parking lot. His hips pressed against the other man and pinned him to his car, receiving a gasp in response. 

Lassiter moved his hands to the ends of Shawn’s button-up, pulling up the edges so he could roam freely underneath. The mixed feeling of warm hands and cold air sent shivers up his spine as the strong, rough fingertips dug into the soft tissue.

Breaking the kiss, Lassiter opened his eyes once more and donned that cocky smirk, mumbling close to a growl, “To answer your question, yes.”

“Hmm?” Shawn hummed, eyes closed and lips pressed on the detective’s jaw and neck. 

“You asked if I would take a chance on you and—for some reason why—” Lassiter was cut off by Shawn sucking on a tender spot on his neck and moaning. “Fuck, Shawn— I’m saying yes.”

The psychic ripped away from the other man and stared up at him.

There was a genuine smile on Lassiter’s lips, swollen from the earlier ambush. Running his eyes down, he can see the beginnings of deep bruises decorating his neck. Along with the messed up hair, cherry red flush, and rumpled clothing, it was suffice to say that hot and bothered was a good look on the detective.

And the fact that it was only from a single kiss to his lips and many little kisses to his neck made Shawn’s heart race and—

_Did Lassie just say that he would give him a chance?_

“Well?” Lassiter’s deep voice interrupted his internal monologue. Shawn focused back in on him and saw that that sexy bastard raised his eyebrow expectantly. “What do you say?”

The psychic fumbled with his matching light blue tie that hung loosely around his neck and pulled the detective in for another kiss, loving the feeling of the other man’s smile against his lips.

Unaware of the events occurring outside, Gus was finally over dealing with the chaotic tendencies of his family and sauntered over to Juliet, talking with some of her old friends from who knew when.

Walking up behind her, he slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her close, excusing them from her previous conversation.

“Do you think we should find them?” Gus asked Juliet, who realized that the Best Man and the Man of Honor disappeared a while ago. “Do you think Lassiter killed Shawn?” 

“No,” Juliet answered honestly and then wrapping her arms around Gus’s shoulders. “But I think maybe we should—I don’t know— sneak off.”

Seeing where she was headed, he smirked and looked at her up and down. “I don’t think I could agree more.”

Pressing a kiss to her lips, Gus then took his new wife’s hand and led him off to their wedding night just a hair early. 

Only, not before they caught Shawn and Lassiter making out against the black Ford Fusion in the parking lot.

As much as they were happy for the two of them, the sight of Shawn pinning Lassiter against his car was an image they neither one of them would ever forget.

At least, Gus didn’t have to worry about Shawn having a ride and Juliet didn’t have to worry about Lassiter not discharging his weapon on anyone.

 _Well..._ , she thought, then immediately dismissing that dirty joke before it turned into another horrifying and traumatizing image.

Without any further ado, Gus and Juliet left the two to their own devices and sped away in the Blueberry, happily ever after, with Lassiter and Shawn not too far behind.

However, contrary to their heterosexual counterparts, the psychic and the head detective did not make it to the hotel in a timely fashion.


End file.
